The Blood Line (15 page)

Five minutes later another man entered the cave and stepped over to the line. If anyone had been watching they would have felt a strange sense of déjà vu for the man looked very similar to Box. Very similar.

Qayin stretched out a hand towards the line and held it there for a few moments, as though warming it before a fire. Then suddenly a convulsion hit him and he shook briefly, his whole body trembling. The episode stopped as quickly as it had started and he recovered quickly, muttering something under his breath as he drew his dark cloak back onto his shoulders. A dark aura seemed to mist around him. Black he stood as night, fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell.  He pulled open the line and stepped through, vanishing where Box had only a few minutes before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Romania

Date Unknown

H
ob and Hödekin knew their journey was to be a difficult one. Because of the position of the lines they faced a long walk through the Romanian forests, rumoured to be inhabited by the moss people, wychkin and darker things besides. After a long hike, lasting several days they would arrive at the small forest of Hoia Baciu. At the centre they would find the bare circle where nothing grew and there they would find the line that would take them to Kalapa, and the ancestral home of Old Hob, King of the Boggarts.

The journey would then have to be made in reverse. Hob just hoped that there would be someone there to bring back with him, that his journey to the ancient seat of all that was good would be symbolic enough to bring people together.

Hob and Hödekin appeared from a line in a small clearing inside a dense wood. They found themselves standing inside a ring of pale mushrooms, their domed heads poking through the leaf litter like the top of skulls. A patch of watery sunlight fell on the kobolds from directly above but looking into the wood they could see that everywhere else under the trees was dark and murky. Little grew in the shade and the ground was a carpet of brown leaves and pine needles on top of twisted roots and fallen branches. The trees were mainly beech and oak with the occasional spruce. A faint path started at the clearing, not much more than a rabbit trail. Hiking their packs higher on their shoulders they gave each other a nod and set off under the dark green shade of the Transylvanian forests.

As they walked they occasionally saw places where great trees had fallen but nothing else had yet taken their place. These spots were islands of slightly brighter daylight in the murk, often with fountains of bright green bushes making the most of the light. Otherwise, all seemed dead and quiet, the colours muted and sickly.

Eventually, the path came up against a small stream and followed it. The trickle of the clear water was a welcome noise in the otherwise silent wood and the water was clean enough to drink. Hob and Hödekin said little to each other as they walked. The woods felt oddly oppressive and both felt as though they were being watched or studied by someone or something. Once the path crossed close by one of the islands of light and Hödekin walked over to it to inspect the ferns growing there. As he approached the leafy fronds of the bush gave a sudden shiver. A strange cry split the air, a sound neither of them had ever heard before, and a shape darted out and away amongst the trees, waist high to the kobolds, it bounded and leapt and was so quick as it moved away on two legs that neither Hob nor Hödekin had the time to identify it. It surprised Hödekin so much that he gave a cry and stumbled backwards falling onto his bottom. In two seconds it was gone, it's strange wail swallowed by the forest.

Hödekin hurried back to the path, his heart beating quickly. He and Hob walked a little quicker for the next while and did not stray from the path towards the light again that day.

Night came early under the trees. They made their camp under a large tree with huge buttressed roots which started well above their heads and came out like creased curtains of wood, folding around so that they were able to put one to their backs and one side. They were out of sight of the path and felt much safer for that. Although the path did not seem well used they could not tell who might come along it at night and the oppressive watchful nature of the forest was enough to put them both on edge. The stream had, for the moment, turned away from the path and the woods were silent and still.

Hob cleared away the leaf litter until he had a patch of clear earth. He sent Hödekin out to collect firewood with a stern warning only to collect wood that was old and certainly dead. He had a feeling that the moss people, the wild woodwose, were watching them, hidden from sight but quick to anger if their living trees were harmed. Hob had seen the strange moss people only once before, peering out from behind the trunks of the trees as he led a desperate band of kobolds through these woods as they made their escape from the Riven who had come to destroy Kalapa. The moss men had been true to their name, green and furred with moss and lichens, stick-like with skeletal fingers and round scared eyes, curious at the kobolds crashing through their forest.

Once Hödekin had returned with enough firewood they lit a small fire, warmed some water they had carried from the stream and made a porridge with some of the oats they had packed, mixing in handfuls of dried fruit. They spoke softly as the night deepened around them. As welcome as the small flames were eventually they agreed that the fire felt like something of a beacon and limited their ability to see out into the forest. The light made their surroundings that much darker. Hob quietly stamped it out as they got blankets ready before pouring water on it to dampen down the smell of wood smoke which drifted out into the dark trees. As soon as the light was gone the darkness of the forest became as black as the grave. Both kobolds had reasonable night vision, with Hob, the mine kobold, being slightly better than his house kobold cousin. Even so they could see almost nothing in the forest around them and every tiny rustle in the otherwise silent woods sounded like a huge animal. These woods had wolves and both kobolds were deeply conscious of their vulnerability.

They decided to take turns to sleep. Hob took the first watch but it was whilst Hödekin was struggling to keep his eyes open in the pitch black of night that they first heard the sound. A pair of feet could be heard on the path coming towards them at speed. Hödekin gently shook Hob awake. As they listened, each holding their breath, they heard someone come running along the path. Whoever it was carried no light and seemed not to need it. Hödekin imagined it was something like whatever had startled him in the bushes earlier that day but it was difficult to say as the sounds were so much louder in the night and when fuelled by an active imagination. As the quick footsteps neared their tree they slowed and stopped. Hob and Hödekin held their breath and both readied their presence. A long but quiet sniff came from the other side of the tree as though whoever, or whatever, it was was smelling them. Then the footsteps started up again and in a moment they had disappeared leaving the kobolds in silence again. Neither Hob nor Hödekin slept again that night.

Later, as the first hint of dawn started to turn the sky from black to dark grey, they heard another sound. This one was above them. A shape seemed to be moving just above the trees so that a rustle moved in from one side, moving in arcs. No other trees moved and it seemed to be more than just a breeze. There was a shadow up there, swirling, moving the top most branches as it flew. After a few minutes it moved away and the forest returned to silence as the light began to increase.

Somewhere in the depths of a remote forest, North America.

Date unknown

Perhaps he could lose Qayin in this crowd, thought Box. He had arrived at the Twilight Market, perhaps the strangest place he had ever found in the course of his wanderings. Hidden deep in a wooded valley somewhere in America it was a place where the far future of Mu and the distant past melted together. Men and women of many eras walked alongside kobolds. Bunyips, yeren, giants and stranger creatures moved from stall to stall in the dim light shopping for some of the weirdest things on offer from this world and the next. Box even saw what looked like a Sasquatch hunched down behind a stall on which stood a number of strange artefacts and relics. The Twilight Market only appeared once in a blue moon and Box had only been here once before. He had not been able to fathom how or where it appeared from, how the line delivered him here or how the strange mixture of shoppers knew when and where to come. It was probably the largest gathering of people with presence this side of the Rivenrok Complex.

He ducked into a shadowy corner for a moment to get his bearings and so he could keep an eye on the spot where he had arrived.
I am
, thought Box as he eyed the spot in the forest where the line hummed,
my own worst enemy
. Qayin would surely follow him, even to this strange and elusive place. Box wished bitterly that he had never found that original line, the one that had caused him so many problems. The Blood Line was, so far as he knew, the only one of its kind. He had used it many times in an attempt to create a group of people he could trust to help fight the Riven. As it had turned out it had just caused more trouble rather than make the situation better. Box shuddered when he thought of what might happen if the Riven King ever managed to use it on his own terms. He would create multiple versions of himself. He would be unstoppable. It was no wonder the Riven chased Box, and the other versions of him, as hard as they did. They had not been able to find the location themselves but he had no doubt that they would torture him to make him reveal his secret. Indeed, he knew of more than one clone who had taken the secret to his grave under enormous pressure. It was only Qayin who might willingly give up the location. But all he wanted to do was kill. He hated the line, the very reason for his own tormented existence. The secret was safe for now.

It was only after he had used it numerous times that Box had discovered the horrible truth of the line. Using it was risky. Box had discovered something which he thought of as the doppelgänger effect. Use of the regular lines might take you to a time and place where a younger or older version of you already existed. But that didn’t happen often. The nature of the lines meant that they often connected fixed times and places so the chances of crossover were small. Still, it certainly wasn’t unheard of that people visited themselves. If one day you were walking down the street and chanced upon an older version of yourself you knew that one day, when you were older, that was where you needed to be. But most people who used the lines knew that you had to be careful. The world didn't seem to like too many versions of the same person to be too close together. Things went wrong when the same person from different times ran around together. This was the doppelgänger effect. German mythology told of the fate that would befall you should you ever happen to chance upon your own identical doppelgänger or double-walker. The price was death. In reality, things were usually okay if you visited another version of yourself only very briefly. But anything more than a fleeting glance and things sometimes started to go wrong.

However, the Blood Line made matters worse, much worse. Clones had to separate quickly or terrible accidents would befall them. Box had seen several versions of himself die. It was not an easy thing to see. And of course one clone, Qayin, had changed everything. Box had not used the line since. He also hadn’t tried to protect any of his clones. Getting too close to them would be counter-productive and his proximity to them would make him and them vulnerable. It was perhaps why Qayin had been so successful an assassin. The clones, wary of the effect of being too close, had stayed separate and had not bonded together to stop him. Yet, he seemed to have some way of using the doppelgänger effect to make the murder of the other clones easier.

It was only desperation that had ever led Box to find one of the alternate versions of himself. Before Qayin, whenever he had made a new version of himself Box had made sure that he only hung around the new guy for long enough to share a few thoughts. There wasn't usually much to say. For a few seconds they were identical in every practical way. As well as looking the same they had the same thoughts, the same memories, the same feelings. An exact and perfect copy. For a brief moment in time there was absolute and perfect symmetry. Two people completely identical in every conceivable way, sharing the same space. Closer than any simple set of twins. They would both know the events that had led Box to the line. Then Box would go one way and the clone the other and from then on they would be different. They would make different choices and have different experiences, albeit from the same foundation. And Box had found that new experiences could really affect who they became. There also seemed to be inherent differences or flaws in the copies perhaps as different parts of his personality, his psyche, came to the fore. After a surprisingly short time it usually became evident that the new version of himself was different in some particular way. Some were shy, others reckless, some scared, some confident. But always, they looked exactly like him. At least until they decided to wear different clothes, decided not to shave or were injured or marked. He had once met one who had covered his body completely in tattoos. That had been weird.

But whatever the copies became and however they looked and no matter where they ended up every single one had been useful in confusing and frustrating the Riven who endlessly pursued him. Until Qayin. He had been obviously different immediately and had attacked Box almost straightaway. So unexpected had been the attack that Box had barely been able to fight himself free. Qayin was Death himself and had gone on to murder most if not all of his brothers.

Box meanwhile had been monitoring what was going on elsewhere in the resistance against the Riven and he thought he now needed help. All the other versions of himself that he had created through the Blood Line had been as single-minded as Box in keeping the location of the Line a secret from the Riven. He had to admit that the chances of the Riven King finding the Blood Line were high. Box had often wondered what he could do about that. The time was fast approaching when Box would need to stop Qayin. But he was running out of time. Qayin was getting too close and too powerful. Box was hoping he might be able to find others who had been resisting the Riven. He had heard that there was a new hope; that a boy had been found who was powerful and had the potential to upset the plans of the Riven King. Box looked forward to meeting him, if they both survived long enough.